


Wall

by Cryon



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Angst, F/F, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22257238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryon/pseuds/Cryon
Summary: A post-Rebellion kabedon.
Relationships: Akemi Homura/Miki Sayaka
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UnlimitedLostWorks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnlimitedLostWorks/gifts).



> Yup, I wasn't kidding after all.

The hand slams the wall behind her, hard. Something creaks: whether the thick glass, or the bone hidden beneath the reddened palm, she can’t say for sure. Far easier to tell is how much hesitation it took for the impact to somehow find a different target than her face, and how deeply it sickens Sayaka that she makes it so obvious. Her arm thrust with a clear intent to hurt - so why is it that the one smirking with unhidden satisfaction is Homura instead?

“Kabedon… was it? Has your repertoire gotten this dry already, Miki Sayaka?”

Her eyes savor the forearm beside them with half-lidded contempt. There’s little farce to it, unlike her smile. As if invisible, jagged hooks were tugging at the corners of her mouth in just the right way to make it look like one, by dint of nothing but coincidence. It’s an ugly, spiteful thing one cannot help but hate. Sayaka does too, of course, but more than that, she is embittered less by the intent behind it, and more by the fact that it’s a reminder. Falsehood embodied: a mirror that perfectly reflects her own pathetic lies, more than the violet irises that enshrine her visage’s grimace.

“Your imagination has failed you, so you decided to compensate with boldness...” Homura’s face swivels to her empty side, where the academy’s patterned regularity beckons behind the semi-transparent glass. “It would take but a single pair of eyes, bored beyond belief, to reveal your immoral conduct to everyone. Is this how little you care about your precious everyday life? Or...” Her pupils turn while her head doesn’t, so that Sayaka can only see her mocking profile, as if the other side is ready to let itself be seen by all, daring fate to let it happen with little care. “Is this what truly turns you on…?”

Another bang. Sayaka’s remaining hand meets the glass even harder than the former, so that now her arms form a corridor at the end of which lies Homura’s trapped face. It betrays no concern. It can only relish in the awareness that if anybody is imprisoned right now between the two of them, it is not Homura.

“Mh, perhaps not. Maybe what you crave is validation. A witness more reliable than yourself, to tell you that what you’re doing is more than mere make-believe.”

“Shut up.”

Homura does, but only for the instant it takes her smirk to grow into a crooked grin. There is no argument, no truth being laid bare in this transparent hallway. The victor has long since been decided: the loser is just butting her head against the foot that tramples her battered body.

“Right on the mark, mh?” Homura reaches out, and in that moment Sayaka realizes her mistake, whom between them is imprisoned by the other. Her frowning visage’s attempts at avoiding contact are, like everything about her endeavors concerning that devil, utterly futile. She cannot unseal her palms from the glass, for that would spell out loud the sordid truth of her weakness, cannot turn tail on a path she chose herself. Her cheeks meet the deceitful softness of fingers like legs of a venomous spider, the pressure on her chin is minimal yet enough to draw her angry stare in line with the mocking portrait of pity painted over Homura’s features.

“Poor, poor Miki Sayaka. Still chasing phantoms as they slowly become eroded from your memories. When will you accept that you’re struggling over a lost cause? That you’re sifting through ashes, hoping to find a seed that isn’t there to blossom?”

“Shut up.” A growling murmur, trembling along with the entirety of her being with anger, with powerlessness and desperation. With a longing that tortures and spurs her on even as she slowly forgets why.

“How ironic. To think I decided to play along, when you asked me to tell the teacher I needed to go to the infirmary, despite being the one who craves healing the most.”

Shut up.

Words left unspoken, for they would have erupted in an anguished scream and called upon her misery more attention than she desired. No, she had to suffocate it, but she had no hands to cover her mouth with. Her instincts made the choice for her, trusting the turbulent feelings which had been brewed within by despair and hope alike.

“Ah…!”

Surprise, feigned for the most part. It reverbered where Sayaka’s lips had met Homura’s, flesh pressed against flesh without finesse nor passion. They parted shortly afterwards, one glaring, the other staring bemusedly.

"Still you try. Thinking you could save me from genuine hatred with your false love. Pray tell… whom do you wish you could embrace like this? That clueless Sakura Kyouko?"

Again, their faces met, longer this time. Stronger. More desperate. Sayaka pulled back, too breathless to stop yet another stab.

"You are so charming, trying to imitate her brand of recklessness. But, mh, maybe your heart still beats for that boy instead, what was his name…"

The question lingered unanswered. Even as Homura felt the blood being drawn from her lip by Sayaka's anguished biting, her eyes remained open. Watching, and in doing so fostering the other girl's anger, drinking in the embittered flavor of blood and misery.

"Ahah…! No, of course not. No, perhaps it's someone else entirely. You look at me, but you see another."

The smile died, its corpse matching the tired darkness weighing on her eyes. Amusement ceded its place to accusation, jealousy. Understanding, and pity.

"You won't take her from me. Ever. Not her. Not Mado…"

The prey, at last, abandoned any hope of thinking of herself as the predator in the equation. Her fingers slid away from the glass to grasp the devil's head, pressing on it hard. Grasping, with desperate abandon, the red ribbon and the dark hair intertwined with it, pulling yet clinging to that sacrilegious display as she plunged her tongue through those hateful lips. A frenzied kiss, violent and angry, yet a kiss nonetheless. A deluge of passion for a demon she should have hated. Her tongue ravaged the insides of Homura's mouth as if to fill a hole, but the emptiness was hers. Searching for a response, but not from the walls she was painting with her saliva.

A pitiful, contradictory longing. Laughable - so why did Homura feel her arms wrapping around that foolish, useless pawn's waist? Why did her eyelids fall at last, or her own tongue stir to match the maddened rhythm of Sayaka's? Because she couldn't help admitting that she understood those sentiments?

Sayaka pulled away, her trembling chin wet with saliva and her own tears. She saw Homura's eyes open to peer into hers. Eyes made heavy and ugly by an unfathomable, sorry tiredness. She saw them, and spontaneously she brought her mouth up close, licking one of those drooping eyelids once, like an animal. As if to eat away the burden that had tarnished their ancient purity.

Homura leaned in, solemnly letting her do so, and for a few minutes they kept sharing their silent embrace and company in the transparent hallway, their distorted liaison unnoticed by all.


End file.
